Pillow Fights and Prostitutes
by A Ginger
Summary: Dean/Sam. A little fluffy, yet very smutty. Sam's late-night computer habits get on Dean's nerves, and he finds an effective way to handle the situation. One-shot.


If Sam continued to tap so damn hard on his laptop keys, Dean was sure he'd do the angels' work and kill his brother himself. Each little plastic click seemed louder than the last, and it was grating on Dean's brain like a pitchfork.

Which is why, with deadly accuracy, Dean chucked his pillow at Sam. The cardboard-thin motel pillow wasn't large or fluffy enough to do real damage, but it managed to knock Sammy a bit sideways and rumple his too-long hair. Dean fell into laughter as Sam fished the pillow from under the table and threw it right back at him, missing.

"You wanna knock off the kid stuff for a minute, there, Dean?" Sam said. "I'm _trying_ to research this job! In case you've forgotten, we have a case to work on." He was pulling pissy face #3; the one that said he was frustrated enough to start nagging Dean into oblivion.

Dean sighed and fell back into bed, now without a pillow but momentarily spared the ear-splitting typing sounds. "Dude, in case _you_'ve forgotten, it's two in the morning. Shut the damn computer off and go to sleep like a normal friggin' person."

"Normal," Sam scoffed. "Since when do I conform to the handbook of 'normal'?" He had a point, which he very acutely conveyed with a sideways glance at Dean, who was lying in bed very obviously naked from the waist up.

"Reason number one why I want you to put away the damn laptop and get your ass to bed." Dean rolled onto his side and grabbed the fallen pillow from the floor beside the bed. "Man, your aim sucks." He stuffed the pillow behind his head and stretched out like a sleepy cat.

After a few moments of telling silence, Dean was rocked erratically back and forth by a sudden weight settling into bed with him. When he opened his eyes, it was to find Sam straddling his hips with quite the smirk on his face.

"What's that about my aim?" Sam said, putting a hand to Dean's chest.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "It sucks. Nothing to be ashamed of, you'll just be worthless in a fight, is all."

"A pillow fight, maybe." Sam chuckled and bent down to kiss gently at Dean's neck, running his tongue lightly over the space at the base of his brother's jaw just below the ear. "Now what ever will you do with me? Since I'm so worthless and everything."

Dean made a mockingly considerate noise. "Hm, sell you on the streets, probably. You'd be fine wearing go-go shorts, right?" His hand went to Sam's hip, thumb hooking into the belt loop of the man's jeans, tugging.

"So you're gonna pimp me out?" Sam's hand roamed Dean's bare chest, feeling all of the bumps and scars left from a lifetime of fighting. He looked up through his eyelashes and smirked. "How much am I worth, then?" He moved his hips just enough for Dean to feel it.

"Hard to say. I'd have to take a peak under the hood to work up a good estimate." Dean grabbed at Sam's t-shirt, trying to pull it off. The younger man caught on and laughed softly and he pulled the shirt off and threw it aside.

"Well?" Sam held his arms out to his sides, allowing Dean to get an unobstructed view of his faultless musculature. He bore his own scars, one of which Dean ran a thoughtful finger around.

"Still can't say for sure," Dean said.

Sam moved in close enough to kiss the man beneath him. He pinned Dean's arms down at the wrists with his own large hands. "Maybe a live demonstration would be better?" he said in dangerously low tones, right in Dean's ear. The elder could feel himself growing more aroused; Sam really did have a gift with words.

"Definitely better," Dean replied.

Sam removed himself from Dean, instead sitting beside him off the bed to yank off his jeans. Not wanting to be the only one not wearing pants, he unbuttoned Dean's pants, lighting the other man's skin with tender kisses. Dean bit his lip and closed his eyes, focusing on the sensations.

Before Sam could climb back on top, Dean opened his eyes and sat up. "I'd rather inspect the merchandise from up here, if you don't mind."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, looking for all the world like a defiant seventeen year-old. "No friggin' way."

Dean held up a fist and a splayed palm underneath. "Lightning round?"

Sam sighed and mimicked the pose. "Fine. On three. One – two – three."

Dean flashed scissors.

Sam chose paper.

"Always with the scissors," Sam said, sighing.

Dean chuckled. "Shoulda seen it coming, then." With no further pause, Dean shoved Sam back into the bed on his back. He quickly took to mapping out the dips and curves of Sam's chest with his hands and lips.

"I _did_," Sam said, laughing as well. He let Dean revel in his small victory and closed his eyes. One hand went to the back of Dean's neck, playing with the short hairs at the base of his skull.

Dean gave a small shiver. "Hey cut that out," he complained. "It tickles."

"Such a cry-baby."

Dean retaliated by tweaking one of Sam's nipples.

"Ouch! Hey!"

Dean practically cackled. "You should see your face, man. You're so easy to mess with." To make his point (and to relight the mood), Dean slid his hand down to Sam's groin. He was growing hard – they both were. As Dean teased Sam through his underwear, he sensed that they were both a little needier than usual. It had been a while since they'd fooled around, much less made love. The apocalypse'll do that.

Sam groaned softly at the attention, gripping the bed sheets noticeably. "Dean," he sighed.

The other man grinned. "Love it when you say my name that way," he said. He put his lips to Sam's, kissing slow and deep. However teasing or brash Dean seemed at times, there was no question in Sam's mind of his affections when he was being kissed like that.

As they kissed, Dean continued to jerk Sam off through the thin layer of his boxer-briefs. They touched each other, growing fervent and more passionate the longer they stayed in contact. The noises they made were in the forms of grunts and low moans. Quickly they forgot to remember the motel's thin walls and sleepy clientele. They said fuck-off to whatever noise complaints they may receive in the morning; right now, they didn't care if the whole world heard them, because all they needed to hear and feel was each other.

They reached their climax together. Their kiss only stopped when their heads started to grow dizzy. Dean laid on top of Sam, breathing in their mingled scents. Around him, it was like the room was spinning.

"Love you," Sam said softly, kissing the top of Dean's head.

Dean smiled sleepily, eyes closed. "You too."

"This is awkward."

Both Winchesters nearly fell out of the bed, because the third voice that spoke had come from the doorway.

"Cas—fuck, what the—!" Dean really _did_ fall out of bed at the sight of Castiel looking half traumatized in his frumpy trench coat.

They all three agreed to never speak of that night again.


End file.
